Oh, my love
by OnTheMoors
Summary: Elizabeth and Darcy, a wedding, a wedding night, a honeymoon period, and a splash of drama... What could be better? There WILL be plot, but I'm just having some fun with it first!
1. Chapter 1

The day had finally arrived. A cool, early morning autumn sun shone in dusty bright lines through the centre of the church, lighting up the walkway between pews which were strewn with delicate white flowers and ribbon twirling between bouquets. Guests jostled along the wooden benches to find their seats, all eager for what was widely being anticipated as the most important and grandest wedding that Meryton had ever seen, possibly the county. Quiet whispers and giggles filled the hushed church, and had Darcy been of a mind to pay any attention to the chatter and excitement going on behind him, he would have become extremely self-conscious. Being the focus of attention had never sat well with him, particularly when a large portion of the guests were still new to his acquaintance.

However, Darcy was not of a mind to pay attention. He was barely able to even stand straight on his own two feet, such were his nerves. And anticipation. Oh, Lord, how he had waited for this day! The last year had been torment for him. The unexpected, all-consuming, overwhelming, fierce love he felt for Miss Elizabeth Bennet had taken him so much by surprise, and had sucked him in so deeply, he had known he would never recover. When she refused his first proposal, he felt his world should surely end. Nobody, nobody, could suffer such heartbreak and live - could they? And yet, he had survived. Just. Survived enough to see the truth in her agonising rebuff, and begin the process of altering his prideful and standoffish ways, both as a means of improving himself for his family and friends, and also in the hopes she may one day consider him worth her notice once again.

And then, she had agreed. After months of turmoil, of cursing the day Wickham had ever been born, of hunting him down to ensure nothing he did to the Bennets could ever hurt his Elizabeth again - she had agreed to be his. His wife. Since the day she accepted, Darcy had not known happiness like it. In all his seven and twenty years, he had never known such deep, soul-soaring joy, and now, today, was the day she would finally be permanently and irrevocably his.

Bingley bounced subtly on the balls of his feet next to him, he too nervous for his bride to begin walking down the aisle. Darcy noticed this briefly out of the corner of his eye, his heart light for his friend, who deserved just as much happiness. But suddenly the world dissolved around him as the organ player commenced the wedding march from the side of the church, and the doors opened. Mr Bennet entered, holding a daughter's hand each side, Jane and Elizabeth walking along beside him keeping perfect time to the music. The second Elizabeth entered the church, Darcy thought he might faint with desire. Elizabeth looked absolutely stunning in her plain white wedding gown, ivory lace sleeves enveloping her arms down to her wrists showing the delicate white skin beneath. Her hair was curled and piled atop her head in an artfully messy fashion, a few tendrils escaping the confines of her pins and stroking the elegant slope of her neck, as a small wreath of white flowers and leaves adorned the crown, keeping her veil in place down her back. Her gown flowed beautifully over her generous curves, and her breasts peeked out over the low-cut edge of the gown, making Darcy groan internally, wondering how he was supposed to maintain composure with her standing so close, dressed like this. Her hands were bare, holding a bunch of flowers the twin of those twined around the pews, and on her face was plastered a smile so blinding that Darcy did not see anything nor anyone else until Mr Bennet pressed Elizabeth's hand to his, chuckling to himself at his soon-to-be-son's obvious infatuation.

"Be careful, my love, or the guests might start to suspect real affection on your part," Elizabeth whispered conspiratorially to Darcy, her eyes glittering with a mixture of humour and love, relying on her infamous impertinence to get her through the ceremony without crumbling with need under the gaze of her unbearably handsome betrothed. He took her breath away. Darcy shot her an intense, warning look, tinged with an emotion that Elizabeth could not name, not yet, but that made her go weak at the knees. Darcy brought her hand up to his lips to kiss her bare skin, and the ceremony began.

The wedding breakfast passed without incident, surprising both Mr and the new Mrs Darcy entirely, for Mrs Bennet's temperament and hysteria had got no better following the betrothals of her two eldest daughters - in fact, in Mr Bennet's opinion, they had become decidedly worse. However, the morning passed in a blissful blur, and by midday the two newlywed couples were ready to depart for the respective homes. The Bingleys were to stay in Netherfield Park before commencing on their honeymoon tour, whilst the Darcys were planning to stay at Darcy House in London for the week before travelling back to Pemberley for a secluded and private wedding tour of their own. Once in the Darcy encrested carriage, and after departing promises of good health to all of their friends and family, Darcy and his new wife were finally alone.

For the first few minutes, sat opposite his new wife in the comfortable and plush confines, Darcy could do nothing but stare at this incredible woman he somehow, miraculously, got to now spend the rest of his life with. Elizabeth, unaware of her husband's rapt study of her person, was removing her wreath and veil from her hair, too warm in the carriage for such an accessory, and removing the gloves she had put on following the breakfast. When she finished her grooming to smile at her husband, her heart stopped in her chest. His eyes were sweeping up and down her body and face in such a hungry, devouring fashion that she wondered how she continued breathing. Maintaining a dark, intense eye contact, Darcy leaned forward and gently grasped Elizabeth's hands, pulling her away from her seat and settling her next to him.

"Elizabeth. My Elizabeth," was all he said before gently grasping her face between his hands and leaning forward, touching her lips with his gently, before emotion and sensation took over, and both lovers began grasping at each other in desperation to be closer. Darcy's left hand cradled her face, gently stroking her jawline with his thumb, while his right hand dove hungrily into her dark curling mass of hair, tugging her face closer, drunk on her scent and taste. Elizabeth, meanwhile, had been silently frantic for the touch of his lips all through the breakfast, and as soon as his mouth closed over hers, she was lost. Her hands were everywhere, all at once; clutching at his chest, his shoulders, his shirt, his face, his hair, stroking and caressing everything she could reach, everything she was brave enough to. Her gentle moans of pleasure shot through Darcy like a cannon, and he knew if he didn't control himself now, he would make her his, properly, in a moving carriage, and she deserved nothing short of silks and satins. Both panting heavily, Darcy eased them apart, not taking his hands off her body, and rested his forehead against hers.

"My God. I might never breath regularly for the rest of my life. Not if I'm around you, my love," Darcy said, chuckling lightly. Elizabeth giggled, unable to wipe the smile off her swollen lips.

"Sir, I can safely assure you I will make it so for as long as I can", quirking up her eyebrow and gently brushing her lips across his.

They had stolen kisses and moments alone during their courtship, making the most of quiet moments alone during walks and breakfast calls, and would be lying if they said they hadn't been increasing in ardour and duration as the wedding got closer and closer. But to finally have the freedom to kiss, to touch, to be with each other whenever they wanted, without fear of discovery or censure, was almost too much for both of them. Elizabeth ached to have Darcy hold her as he had just moments ago, but was aware of the need for restraint… At least while they travelled to Darcy House.

She was not happy about it though.

And if she could read Darcy's thoughts at this moment, she would appreciate the few hours they had to control themselves before their first night together. Elizabeth had some understanding of what would occur on her wedding night, having had a somewhat horrifying lecture from her mother on the subject, which had been later rectified by her Aunt Gardiner with sensible advice and assurances of mutual pleasure and love. However, Elizabeth was very vague on the details, unsure exactly of what would please her new husband, and was desperate to make this the most wonderful night for him. She was nervous. Nervous, and yet, so wonderfully excited about the prospect of becoming even closer to her love, to know every part of him, to see him the way no other has or ever would. This train of thought occupied her mind for most of the remainder of the journey, her feelings flicking between anxiety, desire and anticipation. Darcy's, on the other hand, was having an entirely different struggle.

Darcy was focusing on his breathing, on the road flying past the carriage window, on the clouds moving above them; anything, _anything_ to try and take his mind of Elizabeth. Her touch, her scent, her throaty laughter, her teasing voice, her dark, sensuous curls, her expressive eyes, her curves, that dress… The remaining few hours of the coach journey were going to be a severe and cruel test of his gentlemanly behaviour.

'If I don't reign myself in,' Darcy thought to himself, trying not to drag Elizabeth back onto his lap as she righted herself on the seat next to him, 'I will take her like a caveman, a starving, uncivilised wild animal.' He desperately did not want to frighten her; he wanted this night to be perfect, to focus on her, to ensure she fully understood by the end of the night exactly how much power she held over him. Over the course of their courtship, Elizabeth had shown herself to be the passionate, expressive woman her knew her to be, and to be on the receiving end of her affection was like no happiness he had ever known. Whilst careful with physical touches, she had been generous; a stroke of the arm here, a gentle hand on his back there, leaning in a little too close to whisper in his ear… Innocent enough to an observer, but in Darcy's opinion, very, _very_ deliberate. He couldn't get enough of her, particularly after their first kiss, which had very nearly brought both of them to their knees, and every one since had been better than the one before. Darcy had been able to control himself, if only due to years of self-discipline and a desire to save his true passions until they were married. However, now that they were… He was finding his discipline had abandoned him at the church doors. He could think about nothing but how violently he loved Elizabeth, how intensely he needed her, how heartbreakingly beautiful she looked, how much he wanted her.

'And my God, do I want her,' Darcy agonised, trying not to growl out loud as he silently watched her adjust her dress at the bust, feeling as though he might burst into flames any second with the intensity of his desire for his new wife.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you all for your really kind words about my first chapter! I haven't written fanfiction before, but I've read it for years and years, just never quite got round to writing any of my own. I love some lemons in P &P fanfiction, but I promise it will be tasteful - I can't make myself write the pair of them as crude, it's all about that romance *heart eyes*. **

**So, yes, there are lemons ahead (not this chapter unfortunately, sorry!) but it will be lovely and passionate, and I hope you love it. There IS a plot too, I just haven't got round to including it yet... Happy reading!**

 **Love, H xo**

As the carriage made its way toward Darcy House, its occupants had eventually settled into a light sleep, Elizabeth resting a cheek on Darcy's chest, one hand pressed against him, whilst Darcy sat with his arm around her waist, his other hand covering the small, soft one against his shirt, his head gently resting on Elizabeth's fragrant curls. Darcy had managed to get his emotions under control, which he felt had required a Herculean effort on his part, as Elizabeth insisted on remaining his side of the coach, a whisper apart, bestowing gentle touches and loving words, but the gentle chatter between the two calmed his raging desire, and it was he who awoke first.

His heart was full to bursting, waking up with his wife, _his wife,_ slumbering so peacefully on his chest, and knowing that he had a lifetime of this to look forward to. It was enough to make him laugh out loud, a relieved, uncontrollable rumble of laughter, because if he didn't let out some of this joy, he would surely die. Elizabeth slowly drifted into consciousness as well at the sound of her husband's laughter, feeling the vibrations against her cheek on his chest, and she lifted her head in confusion.

'What on earth is the matter?' she enquired, adjusting her hair slightly and turning her head to face Darcy, which was somewhat tricky as he had not yet let go of her waist, and in fact tightened his hold as she woke.

'I just… I can't… I can't believe you are here. With me, on the way to _our_ home. You are mine, and I…' Darcy was choking on his words, his smile blinding but his throat thick with emotion. He had turned to face her fully now, both hands clasping her waist, and without warning pressed his lips to hers in a fierce kiss. Elizabeth, still drowsy, was slow to respond to this surprise at first, but soon caught up with her husband's train of thought. Her hands ran gently up his arms, over his shoulders, grazing his neck and then sunk into his dark, inviting hair. Elizabeth's blood began to heat at Darcy's ardour, as his tongue ravaged her mouth, as his hands ran up and down her back, drawing her ever closer. At Elizabeth's sensual touch, Darcy had broken out in unbearable goosebumps, and was having an immensely difficult time remembering where they were, and what his own name was. Her taste was incredible, and the way she responded to his advances made his heart soar. There had been periods during their engagement when Darcy suddenly became very unsure of himself; what if she didn't love him the way he loved her? What if she was merely tolerating him? He would have her any way he could get her, but he desperately wanted this to be a marriage of equals, in everything. Almost as soon as these thoughts would enter his head, they would be chased away by a teasing quip from his intended, or a lingering touch, or, on occasion, a passionate kiss, and he would feel perfectly confident in her love.

The carriage suddenly came to halt (the coachmen had warned of the imminent stop, but the coach's occupants were far more agreeably engaged) and the couple pulled away, half drunk on each other, but aware they needed to make their appearances suitable for their entrance to Darcy House.

'Well, Mr Darcy, I do believe you have ruined my introduction to your staff… What will they think of me now, seeing me thus? I must look frightful!' Elizabeth laughed, quickly adjusting her dress and catching the loose curls that had come out of the confines of the pins. Darcy chuckled quietly, similarly adjusting his cravat and jacket, but responded,

'My dear, if anyone who looks at you in this moment and thinks you look frightful, I must wonder at their sanity.' He glanced at his new wife lovingly one final time, before the door opened and the footman leaned in to offer a hand to Elizabeth. Once both outside the carriage, Elizabeth was stunned by the number of servants lined up to greet her; this wasn't even the main Darcy residence, and she was Mistress… Before nerves and a sudden, uncharacteristic wave of anxiety could overwhelm her completely, she mentally shook herself and plastered on a brilliant smile for the staff. Darcy steered her gently towards the start of the line, and introduced her one by one, Elizabeth attempting to commit the name of every maid, footman and butler to memory, for she was absolutely determined to be an exceptional wife to her husband, and knew he would be proud of her treating the servants fairly and with the warmth she was so well-loved for. The next hour passed in a hazy blur, as she was shown around Darcy House which was beautiful, grand and tasteful, and eventually they came upon their bedchambers on the top corridor.

"Your rooms are just the other side of this door, my love. Dinner will be served downstairs in half an hour, but I know you might want to freshen up…" Darcy stated gently, his voice trailing off as an unbidden image of Elizabeth in _his_ rooms bombarded its way into his mind, and he had to desperately concentrate on conversing normally, instead of pushing his lovely bride against the corridor wall and taking her here and now. Elizabeth, touched by his thoughtfulness and unaware quite where her husband's thoughts had taken him, replied,

"Thank you, my love. Shall I meet you out here once I am ready? I shouldn't take long, I shall change my dress and that will be all." She had noticed the way his eyes glazed over as he spoke, and felt rather glad for a few minutes alone, to catch up with her thoughts and calm her nerves. Whilst much less knowledgeable about what was to come tonight (she had, of course, perused a few choice reading materials in her father's library on the rare occasions she found it empty, so was not entirely naive) she was no less eager for the night ahead. She wanted her husband just as much as he wanted her, and couldn't quite believe the time had nearly come. Darcy bowed politely, taking her soft hand in his, kissing her fingers with lingering lips.

"I look forward to it, darling. My rooms are just next door, if you need me in the meantime..." he whispered, again being overcome by images of Elizabeth entering his bedchamber. They were, after all, only separated by a large wooden door in the adjoining wall, and Darcy was similarly pleased for a brief pause in his own company, to try and dampen some of this wild lust that was bubbling, just simmering, under the surface. How he was to eat with Elizabeth now, knowing what was to come afterwards, was an absolute mystery to him. She, amused by his lack of focus, but beginning to feel weak at the knees from his touch, his scent and her own thoughts, smiled cheekily at him before slowly drifting into her chambers, maintaining eye contact the whole time as she closed the door on her husband's dark eyes, almost certain she heard a low growl escape his perfect lips.

As she turned around in her new chambers, she gasped aloud at the beautiful room. Darcy had spent a large amount of their courtship attended to the house in London, and clearly this had been why; he had the room decorated in pale greens and creams, splashes of blue and white dotted here and there, with a plush carpets, throws and delightfully smelling scented cushions strewn artfully across the bed and chaise longue. The paint and wallpaper was evidently new, as the room did not smell stuffy and old as most grand houses do, and he had ensured that it reflected her love of nature and the outdoors. Her trunks had already been brought up, and her maid, whom she was yet to meet properly, had laid out an evening dress for her on the large four poster bed. The room was light, airy and beautiful. Elizabeth put her hand to her chest, overcome with her beloved's attention to detail and the effort he must have put into this room, all for her. She noticed the adjoining door on the far side of her room, a light mahogany that complimented her room beautifully, and she wanted to race through it to find Darcy and show her thanks properly and most enthusiastically. Oh, how did was she ever to deserve such a man?

A tentative knock at the door snapped her out of her reverie, and after calling out to admit the visitor, a young girl appeared at the door. She curtseyed, closed the door behind her and turned to face Elizabeth.

"Good evening, ma'am. My name is Eleanor, and I am to be your maid during your stay at Darcy House," she said politely, smiling at Elizabeth with a nervous warmth. Elizabeth smiled back, and laughingly walked towards her.

"Oh, it is lovely to meet you! I must confess, I am most pleased you are here, for my nerves are such that I will need an awful lot of help changing for dinner. I normally pride myself on my composure but I fear it has been a long day," she chuckled, putting Eleanor at ease immediately, and the two set about preparing Elizabeth for dinner.

Darcy paused outside Elizabeth's bedroom. Half an hour had passed agonisingly slowly, particularly with the knowledge that she just the other side of the door. He fervently hoped she liked her new rooms; he had them decorated in a style he knew would match her wild and beautiful temperament, for they had previously been his mother's rooms, who had favoured much darker reds and golds, which he knew would not suit his new wife. Hoping he had allowed enough time for Elizabeth to get herself ready, he knocked on her door. She had evidently been waiting just the other side, for the door was opened almost immediately and she stepped out, closing the door behind her.

"It is lovely to see you again, Mr Darcy. Do tell, how you managed without me this last half hour?" Elizabeth quipped, quirking up an eyebrow, now relying on her wit to stop herself from dissolving into a nervous, quivering mess.

"I… I do not know, my love," Darcy managed to force out in a low, gruff voice. Elizabeth had emerged from her chambers in a rose pink gown, with long sleeves, and a simple but elegant gold chain necklace about her neck, perched on her delicious chest. Her hair was half down; the top half remained pinned in an artfully messy fashion, and the lower half had been left to flow gracefully down her back, showing off her smooth, rich curls, and wafting scents of lavender and fresh air toward him. She was absolutely breathtaking. Elizabeth, for her part, was feeling very much the same about her husband; he had changed into a dark green jacket and tan breeches, and had freshened up a little, so his hair was perfectly dishevelled, and his masculine presence wrapped itself around Elizabeth like a fine mist.

Neither particularly articulate at this moment, and without the need for coordination or discussion, they leaned in to each other, drawn by some ethereal pull, and shared a gentle, loving kiss. This time it remained calm and of a short duration, for they knew they needed to make it through dinner first, and, Darcy thought, as he pulled away from her sweet lips, it was going to be difficult enough just looking at her, without the added temptation of tasting her as well. Darcy pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed, smiling gently.

"You are so, _so_ beautiful my darling. It breaks my heart."

Elizabeth tried desperately to control the tears welling up in her eyes, stroking his jaw and giggling softly.

"I fear if we don't make it down to dinner soon, we may never get down there at all."

Darcy laughed and straightened up, reigning in his wildly beating heart at the sight of this incredible woman, and took her hand into the crook of his elbow. The couple made it down to dinner, where they passed a blissful few hours delighting in loving conversation, delicious food and each other's company. They sat close together during the meal, an intimate setting with candles and dimmed lighting, largely left alone by the servants at the master's request, and it gave them a chance to relax into their home, with each other. After a brief period in the drawing room, where Darcy insisted Elizabeth play and sing for him, while he watched on enraptured by her sweet voice and mere presence, the couple were close to retiring for the night. Neither had ever been so anxious, and yet so unbearably desperate for a night in their lives.

They slowly made their way upstairs.


End file.
